Blame It On The Dress
by MizJoely
Summary: An omegaverse retelling of the Christmas party scene from "A Scandal In Belgravia". Sherlolly of course!


_Why am I writing a new story when I have multiple WIPs, two (two!) Sherlolly Big Bang Challenge stories to finish, a folder full of prompts to fill and another full of story ideas? Why? Because that's how my muse rolls, apparently. Sigh. Anyhoo, enjoy a smutty omegaverse redo of the Christmas scene from "A Scandal in Belgravia"! Rated M for...well, it's omegaverse, pretty sure you know why it's rated M!_

* * *

The party was John's idea, but Sherlock allowed it because what difference did it make? He was stalled on the Adler phone (and the whole bloody case in general), and had nothing else pressing. As John so annoyingly pointed out, it would hardly be a strain on his Alpha nature to put up with another Alpha in his territory for just a few hours.

So yes, he'd put up with John's newest Beta girlfriend and Mrs. Hudson and Gavin Lestrade and 'maybe one or two others' joining them for drinks and (shudder) holiday merriment for a few hours. At least his parents were safely out of the country…did John even know they were still amongst the living? Must find out some day. He had his violin and John had purchased a load of scent-masking candles to help diffuse the aroma of others in their flat. There was one, he'd apparently felt compelled to point out to Sherlock, that was new on the market and was supposedly guaranteed to keep any competing Alpha musk from lingering. Sherlock very much doubted its purported capabilities, but simply shrugged and nodded when John showed it to him. After all, it wasn't as if Lestrade hadn't been in the flat before; at least this time it wasn't a manufactured _drugs_ bust, although Sherlock supposed it was too much to hope that the man might bring a case along as his Christmas offering. That would go a long way toward easing his tedium with the whole wretched event!

But no, disappointment abounded; Lestrade brought nothing but a bottle of cheap whiskey and the excuse that his wife was busy with the children. It was on the tip of Sherlock's tongue to tell the man about her current affair, but a warning look from John had him simply mumbling a greeting before turning to his violin as a distraction.

John's newest sexual conquest arrived – Janine, was it? Janice? Something with a J – and Mrs. Hudson brought up a tray of tid-bits to join the food she'd already prepared for this little soiree. Even though tedious holiday music played in the background, his landlady tried to coax him into playing for them, shamelessly using her Omega scent to try and soften him up, but either John's candles or Sherlock's own stubborn nature kept him from succumbing as he had in the past. She was always trying to get him to play for her and he usually had no problem doing so, but refused to be coaxed into it tonight. Not when the case was nibbling at the back of his mind, along with the usual unwelcome urges his Alpha nature had toward a certain…

Oh. God. _No_.

He smelled her before he heard her cheerful greetings to the others, and he closed his eyes in vexation. Why in God's name had John invited Molly Hooper to this little bash? When Sherlock had specifically told him that he avoided social situations with the petite Omega out of the express desire not to give her any false hopes? (He'd told John that, hadn't he? He must have.) Yes, he would flirt with her at times to get what he wanted at St. Barts, but that wasn't the same; she could scent his insincerity but allowed herself to be convinced to help him because she knew how important his work was. And how equally important it was that he not become bored.

Because as much as he wanted to deny it, he was Alpha through and through, and a bored Alpha Sherlock was a danger to both himself and the world in general. Molly knew that about him. Molly also knew that he refrained from any sort of romantic or sexual entanglements because once that genie was out of the bottle, Sherlock feared the impact it would have on his intellectual pursuits. He thought Molly understood that was why he continuously rebuffed her attempts to become closer to him.

Apparently not, or she wouldn't be here tonight. He could smell her as she chatted with the others, that enticing aroma no candle could mask. Even if the room was the size of a cathedral and filled with nothing but other Omegas, he could pick out her scent, that clean, crisp smell of chemicals and feminine musk that was uniquely Molly.

He inhaled sharply as the background scents sharpened, deepened, suddenly smelling of male arousal; with a growl he turned and saw that Molly had removed her coat, revealing her slender, delicate form in a clingy black cocktail dress like nothing he'd ever seen her wear before. Before he knew it, deductions were spewing from his lips like poison; cruel words meant to hurt, to fill her scent with shame and humiliation and send her fleeing into the night. He could smell Lestrade's growing anger threaded with deepening challenge, and Mrs. Hudson's embarrassment and Jennifer's (Jane's?) discomfort and even John's unhappiness. The words ended when he snatched the offending gift out of the bag and read his own name instead of the mythical other Alpha who'd caught his Molly's attention ( _wait, 'his' Molly_?), the one he'd (oh so very mistakenly) assumed she was going to meet after leaving his flat.

He stared at her, the gift still in his hands, seeing the pain and embarrassment and anger in her face as clearly as he smelled it on her. "You always say such horrible things," she said, only the faintest hint of a tremble on her red-painted lips. "Every time. Always, always."

She made as if to turn away from him, and in that moment, every ounce of his vaunted Alpha control, control that Sherlock had been clinging to with such desperation, snapped; one hand shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. "I am sorry," he growled, knowing that she would smell his sincerity even if he sounded more like he was threatening her. "Forgive me." Then he did what he'd been fighting against for so very, very long; he kissed her, pulling her against his body, crashing his lips to hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth without waiting for the verbal permission her scent had already granted him, grinding his sudden erection against her soft, pliant form.

When the kiss ended and Molly was clinging to his arms with a desperate need that even a nose-blind Beta like John could surely scent, Sherlock remembered the others in the room and glared at them before barking, "Get out."

Lestrade, who had moved closer, hands clenched into fists, met his gaze, but the challenge was quickly vanquished, and he tilted his head to indicate submission…this time. But there was a warning in his eyes, quickly voiced by John. "Don't you dare do anything to hurt her, Sherlock, you hear me? Molly? Molly!" It took two tries for him to catch her attention; as if in a dream, she slowly turned her head and faced the physician. "Molly, tell me now, is this what you want? Do you want us to leave?"

Mrs. Hudson was already hurrying to the door, a small smile on her lips as she gently pulled at Lestrade's arm. Jenny (Gina? Jenna?) was on her feet as well, but still standing uncertainly by John's shoulder as he waited for Molly's answer.

Sherlock waited for it as well, impatiently twitching as his body thrummed and roared under the incessant need of his first full Alpha rut in fifteen years. He didn't need to hear the words; her consent was in the wash of aroma surrounding him; his nostrils flared as he took it in, the first delicate tendrils of Omega heat filling his senses. But John wouldn't leave until she spoke, so he gave her arm a little shake, nodding when she darted her gaze back to his. "Y-yes, I'm…this is…yes, John," she said her voice steadying and eyes darkening with lust as Sherlock lifted one hand to his mouth and slowly, deliberately kissed each knuckle. "This is what I want. Get out."

The last was an order, not a request, and Sherlock grinned, showing all his teeth; Molly was the typical compliant Omega most of the time, but now? Oh, her scent and the firmness of her voice both promised him a shared heat they would remember to the end of their lives.

The door hadn't fully closed before his hands were on the seams of her dress, the dress that had set this all in motion, tearing it impatiently from her body. He needed to see her, to feel her naked form against his, and her hands were just as eagerly ripping buttons from his shirt. He groaned and nipped at her throat as she tugged his cock free from his trousers and pants; she gasped and whined as he cupped her breasts and thumbed her nipples, already erect and proud. The scrap of cloth that constituted her knickers came apart in his hands like tissue paper; he held it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, and Molly shuddered and dropped to her knees. She took his cock into her mouth without a moment's hesitation, stretching her lips around his girth and sucking eagerly while he growled and moaned and indicated his enthusiastic approval of her actions by winding his fingers through her hair. The twee silver bow was mashed beneath his palm, but he was delicate as he reached down to remove the hideous silver dangles from the piercings in her ears. He would be no proper Alpha if he caused unwanted pain to his Omega, after all!

 **oOo**

Molly could hardly believe what was happening, but the wash of biological fire in her veins, the gushing wetness between her legs and the heavy, musky scent of fully aroused Alpha in her nostrils all told her that this was no dream.

It wasn't because of the dress he'd shredded into pieces, although that had been the catalyst for his incorrect assumption that she'd found another Alpha worthy of her attention. No, she knew it had been Greg and John's reactions to her in the dress that had brought this on. Reactions she should have foreseen but honestly hadn't even considered. The only man whose attention she wanted was the one whose cock she was currently sucking, whose aroma was fanning the flame of her heat, pushing her body into pheremonal overdrive. She swore she could feel the eggs dropping like ripe fruit from her ovaries, could feel her uterus readying itself to receive his seed.

The sex was going to be amazing; the child (or possibly children!) this coupling would produce would be even more amazing. The one dim, sensible part of her mind that remained whispered that they'd better be, since Sherlock would surely cast her aside once her heat had abated. Of course he wouldn't phrase it that way, but she could almost hear his cold, precise tones explaining to her why a mate and offspring couldn't be part of his future. She knew from painful experience that Sherlock Holmes just wasn't interested in relationships, certainly nothing long term or as permanent as bonding!

"Stop it Molly," Sherlock ordered her, in precisely the cold tones she'd feared to hear from him. Was this over before it had even begun? But as she allowed him to tug her back up to her feet, in his eyes she saw not only the fierce lust she'd somehow incited in him even before she'd fallen into heat, but a tenderness she'd never thought to see in those incredible blue-green orbs. "You're thinking too loudly. Do you think I'd just fuck you and leave you? Especially since we both know you'll come away from this pregnant. No," he growled, licking a slow, deliberate swipe up her neck, ending just below her ear, "if I'm to give up my abstinence for you, it won't just be for one shared heat. I'm going to mark you, Molly Elizabeth Anne Hooper, and you will bear my young and wear my name. Is that clear?"

He punctuated each of the last three words with a sharp nip just above her pulse point, the traditional location for a life-bonded pair's marking. "Yes," she moaned, rejoicing at his proclamation. Some might find it heavy-handed, but she'd known he was the only Alpha she would ever be able to fully give herself to from the moment she first breathed in his heady scent, redolent with musk and laced with the harsh tang of tobacco.

The sound of a feminine moan broke them apart just as Sherlock leaned down to kiss her. Molly stared at him, watching as he fumbled his mobile from his pocket with an annoyed scowl. "Case," he said succinctly. "But I won't…"

He didn't get to finish whatever he was about to say; jealousy boiled through Molly's mind and body, churning her thoughts and burning in her blood. Without thinking, she snatched the mobile from his hands, threw it to the floor and stamped on it, exulting in the crunch of it beneath her less-than-sensible black stiletto heels. "You're mine, Sherlock Holmes," she snarled as she grabbed the edges of his ruined shirt and yanked him closer to her. "Whoever she is can, she can find her own Alpha to fuck." Then she kissed him, hard, all teeth and lips and probing tongue, kicking away the remains of the mobile as she molded her body to his.

 **oOo**

He could hardly believe it; had Molly actually destroyed his mobile just because of Irene Adler's ringtone? Yes, she most certainly had, and if Sherlock hadn't already been about as aroused as an Alpha in rut could be, that would have more than done it. With an appreciative growl he swept her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly to his bedroom, not bothering to kick the door shut behind him; no one with a sense of smell would dare enter the flat now, not even if the world was tumbling down around their heads.

It was the work of only seconds to finish reducing their remaining clothing to tattered shreds, Molly enthusiastically joining in the sartorial mayhem with a gleam in her brown eyes that told him she'd fantasized about just this scenario more than once. So had he, truth be told, on those nights when he couldn't ignore the needs of his body – his biological transport – for one second longer. The nights when his hands had delved beneath the sheets to his naked, hardened cock, stroking it to completion with Molly's image in his mind and the memory of her scent tantalizing his nose and her name on his lips.

Thinking about it brought a few, hot splashes of semen spurting from the tip of his cock, splattering against Molly's soft belly and causing her to gasp in surprise. He shoved her onto her back and dove between her legs, taking care to lick up every drop of his ejaculate before delving into the bounteous wetness between her legs. Molly was moaning and gasping, reaching down to tug at his hair; he nosed her clit then nipped at it and she squealed and bucked up against him before breathlessly demanding, "More!"

He was happy to comply, a shiver of desire rushing over him at the command in Molly's voice. She was a sweet little Omega through and through, but with a thread of steel he'd somehow overlooked until now. Well, no more, he thought distractedly as he ran his tongue roughly over her dripping sex. He couldn't wait to find out just how much Alpha Molly Hooper had in her.

When he said as much, smirking at her after she'd wailed and writhed through her first orgasm, she gave him a cheeky smile, pulling him up for lingering kiss as she trailed one hand down his body. "Well, let's just say I'd like a little MORE Alpha in me right now," she said, sliding her hand around his cock and squeezing.

"Don't make jokes Molly, they're really not your area," Sherlock groaned in response, parting her thighs as he prepared to give her what they both so desperately wanted.

"Oh, I dunno, I think I've got a pretty _grasp_ of it," Molly replied, sliding her thumb over the semen-slicked head of his cock while tugging at his swollen shaft. He felt his eyes rolling back in his head at the sheer erotic pleasure that washed over him and very nearly orgasmed as she nipped at his pulse point.

Enough was enough; he was the Alpha, she was the Omega, and no matter how much he was enjoying this new side of Molly, he absolutely had to assert his dominance: every cell in his body demanded it of him. So he kissed her, thoroughly, pulling away only when he felt her chest heaving in a desperate bid for more oxygen. While she panted and blinked, he hauled her wrists above her head, holding them in place with one hand while he raised his body above hers. Giving her a wicked grin, he rubbed the blunt head of his cock against her core, teasing her with the promise of his knot, leaning down to nibble at her throat and jawline. "Tell me, Molly," he said, his voice a silken purr, feeling her temperature spike, smelling the deepening scent of her arousal mingling with his, "do you really think this is a laughing matter?"

"N-no," she stuttered out and his smile deepened; the balance had been restored, now it was time to do what they both wanted and fuck his Omega into the mattress. For a split second he considered releasing her in order to flip her onto her stomach, since the traditional position for a first time shared heat was the Omega on her knees while her Alpha fucked her from behind, but he'd never been one for tradition.

Besides, he wanted to watch every expression on her face, take in every nuance of her scent as he knotted her, memorize every line of her petite, perfect form while he fucked her.

Speaking of which… "Molly, you do understand there's absolutely nothing wrong with either your lips or your breasts, right?" So much for his Alpha dominance; he anxiously awaited her response even as he slipped the head of his cock into her sweet, juicy sex.

"Sherlock, not now," she snapped, gasping as he slid further into her, releasing her wrists in order to hold himself above her. She spread her legs wide to make it easier for him to enter her. "I accept your apology, I have no need to compensate, got it, now for god's sake just FUCK ME!"

The last two words were practically howled, and Sherlock wasted no time in complying. With a near-howl of his own, he thrust into her. The feel of being sheathed inside her immediately short-circuited his few remaining functioning brain cells, and for a long, blissful time there was only thrusting and grunting and the feel of her nails digging into his shoulders, her legs wrapped so tightly around his waist, her breath on his cheek as he licked and sucked her throat.

Orgasm came almost as a shock, although he'd felt his knot rising, his thrusts becoming shallower and shallower after she'd reached her second climax. He'd swallowed her screams of ecstasy, moving his mouth from her throat to her lips the instant her felt the tell-tale tightening around his cock, his tongue lashing urgently against hers as she tensed and tensed and then suddenly collapsed beneath him. With one last push his knot was inside her as his cum gushed into her womb in a hot stream. A wordless shout against her lips, and his mouth was back at her throat, his teeth tearing into the soft flesh covering her pulse. She cried out and grabbed his head, fingers tugging at his curls as he held him closer, shuddering and shaking through her third orgasm, which triggered his second and then the warm taste of her blood filled his mouth and it was done.

Bonded. The one thing he'd vowed to avoid in his life, and here he'd willingly succumbed at the age of thirty-two, and all because Molly Hooper had worn a clingy black dress.

No, he silently chastised himself as he rolled the pair of them so that she was sprawled above him, the hot bulge of his knot keeping them firmly tied together. No, it wasn't just the damned dress. Nor was it simply his Alpha nature taking over at the prospect of other males goggling over her, even if one of the other males was also an Alpha. No, it was just because it was Molly, for whom he'd been fighting an attraction that had only grown stronger the longer he knew her. And not just a physical attraction, because that was easy to ignore, mere child's play; no, it was a mental attraction as well, and, loath though he was to admit it, an emotional one as well.

And now they were life-bonded and he would have a mate and children, all the boring, ordinary things he was supposed to be above.

Looking up into her eyes as she raised her head to stare down at him, brushing the tangled masses of her cinnamon-colored hair away from her sweaty face, he smiled, basking in the knowledge that for once he'd been utterly, completely, stupendously wrong about something. She returned the smile shyly as he lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. There was only one thing left to say now, and he didn't hesitate to say it. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."


End file.
